


you are my home

by cloudsinmycoffee9



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsinmycoffee9/pseuds/cloudsinmycoffee9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story that is absolutely only about Ned and Catelyn Stark. Pre-canon. Compliant. And dedicated to the Starks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"A raven for you, Lord Stark." 

Luwin's words interrupted his thoughts as he gazed out the windows of his solar.

"Hmm?" he asked, distracted.

"I believe it is from your wife, my lord."

At the mention of his wife, Ned turned quickly to receive the parchment, anxious for news. "Thank you, Luwin." Excited, he tore open the seal and quickly read Catelyn's neat script, forcing himself to read it twice to make sure he was not mistaken, but he grunted in frustration at the words inside.

"My lord?"

Ned turned to the door in surprise. "Forgive me, Luwin, I did not realize you were still here."

"Is something amiss?"

Ned sighed. "Lady Stark writes that she is still a few weeks away. Her father decided to join them at the last minute, but she must have forgotten to send a raven, or it was lost. This is the first she's said of it. So there will be a larger party than expected, and moving slowly, due to her father."

"I see. You had expected them home sooner."

"Indeed."

"I am sorry, my lord. I know it feels as though they have been gone a long time. Although," Luwin stopped to chuckle, "I suppose now you know a bit of what Lady Stark feels whenever you leave."

Ned looked up. "What do you mean?"

"It is hard on her when you are away, my lord. You are off conducting business, a new problem to solve every day. You are likely more distracted than she, who must wander the castle and wonder how you are, with only normal duties to occupy her. She asks me for any ravens at least twice a day."

"Does she?" he asked, before he could help himself.

"At least twice a day, if not more," the maester repeated with a smile. "It is easy to see there is no lack of affection between the two of you."

Ned turned away, embarrassed. "Well, then," was all he said, looking out the window again as if a raven might appear with more news.

"It will be good to have them back, my lord. I daresay the entire castle has regretted their absence. It is far too quiet without your young pack here, save Jon, who never added much noise in the first place."

Ned grimaced at the mention of Jon. The last few months without his siblings had been undoubtedly hard on him. Theon had been his only source of entertainment, and Ned rarely approved of the sort of entertainment Theon suggested. He knew Jon missed Robb desperately at this point.

"Yes. I am anxious for them all to return safe and sound," Ned replied. "May I ask you to let the kitchens know we can expect a company of at least forty men in addition to the party that left us four moons ago? They have leave to obtain anything they require. Catelyn usually sees to the planning of banquets, I am not sure..."

"Not to worry, my lord. I will have her closest maid, Jessa, look over the menus and receipts. All will be in order. It is a great honor that Lord Tully would travel all the way here to greet you. We will have Winterfell at her best."

"Thank you, Luwin." Ned nodded at the good maester, and watched him walk out the door. He was grateful, as always, for his counsel and assurances. But he wanted to be alone just now. As he did most of the time, especially as of late. He found himself growing cross far too easily in the presence of others.

His wife and children had left him for a visit to Riverrun over four moons ago, for six moons ago Lord Tully had sent a raven that it was nearing Edmure's name day, and that he wanted to meet his grandchildren. Catelyn's eyes had danced so prettily at the thought of showing the children her childhood home - teaching them to swim in the river, running through the woods, and introducing them to fish and figs and all sorts of foods they never had in the North. Ned could not deny her the trip, although as soon as it was decided, he was already mentally calculating how soon they might return. As soon as their newest babe, Bran, was old enough and Catelyn healthy enough to be declared fit for the journey, they had started making preparations for them to leave for a visit.

Ned had hated every moment of it.

"I should go with you," he declared again, as he had almost every day since it had been decided. She glanced at him with love and pity in her eyes as she bent over Arya and Sansa's dresser, pulling at items to place into a trunk. The children were off at their lessons, and she was taking the opportunity to pack a few things, a few nights before they left. Ned had followed her every move between their rooms, ostensibly to supervise her choices. He stood now in the middle of the room, hands flexing opened and closed in their idleness and frustration at his family's imminent departure.

"No, you should not, my love, you know this," she had reproached him. "A Stark must ever be in Winterfell, have you not always told me that?" He grunted in acquiescence, watching her as she moved about the dressers, gathering a few bits of clothing and tossing them into piles to be mended, washed, or folded for the journey. She worked in silence for a few moments, but looked back and caught him still watching her. She crossed the room to place a hand on his cheek. "It is a very important rule, my lord, or I would have surely camped beside you in battle, Ned, had you allowed me to leave this place and be by your side, the countless times you have left me." 

He looked shocked at that, an eyebrow raised. "Surely, Catelyn, you could not mean you would have joined the men in battle - you are a lady! I would not have you - "

"What? Wash away the blood from your victories? Hear your tales with pride? Warm your bed each night?"

He laughed harshly. "I am sure it would not be as easy nor as pleasant as all that. Though the thought of you warming my bed between battles..." He cocked his head at her and leered suggestively before reeling back to the conversation. "You have thought of this, then?"

She leaned in for a kiss.

"I would follow you anywhere, Ned. I would much rather be with you than apart. No matter the conditions. You know that."

"Truly? Are you actually a wildling, kissed by fire, in disguise under all those manners and Tully grace? You would follow your man into battle, then?"

She stood up straight as a soldier in front of him, a small smile playing on her lips. "I would fight beside you, my lord, to protect you and the children if I had to. I dare any man to come between me and my family."

Ned chuckled. "I pity any man that would try."

She placed her hands gently on his chest. His lips chewed in thought. "Ned, I know this will be a long time away," she leaned closer now, and he felt his hands come unexpectedly up against the wall as she pushed him toward it. "Surely by now you must know how much I love you," she breathed into the space between them. "And that I never wish to be parted from you, I never - " but whatever her next words might have been were cut off with a kiss, as he pressed her to him and gathered her in his arms. After a moment, she had broken the kiss, only to whisper "take me to my chambers, my lord," and he had gladly agreed.

And after, lying naked in bed, his broad chest pillowing her head, she ran her hand lazily up and down his side, watching as his ribs still sucked in and out with labored, heavy breathing. She snuck her toes under his calf.

"Husband, I am loath to be away from you for so long, but I do think this would be a good visit. I long to see my father and brother. To show the children where I grew up. We will not be gone forever."

"A day already seems too long."

She swatted at him. "Do not become sentimental now, Ned, after all these years," she joked. "How many times have I had to watch you ride off into battle, certain you would be killed and never come home to me? But we will be safe, and you will be with your men, drinking every night to Winterfell, with no wife and children under your feet to give you pause. You may go as you like, say as you like - more freedom than you've had here since you were what, eight years old? I daresay you will not give thought to us at all. We will ride back in a few months' time, and you will have forgotten all about us." She smiled up at him, and was unprepared for his reaction.

"Catelyn." He pulled back from her, clearly offended.

She bit her lip, realizing she had gone too far. She reached up to stroke his beard.

"Ned, my love, I was only joking, of course I know you care for us. I am sorry, that was ill-said."

"You cannot truly believe I will not miss you."

"I know, my love! I did not mean it. I promise. I did not mean it."

He must have still looked sad to her eyes, so she pressed herself against him and kissed his frown. "Ned, more than anything that I have ever known, I know that you care for your family. Forgive me. It is only that I am sad to leave you, as well. It makes me nervous when I speak." She kissed him again.

He felt he had much to still say on the subject, if he could find words for it, but she had unconsciously shimmied her body so deliciously against him at that moment, that he had forgiven immediately, and set about making another memory for his wife that shewould not be quick to forget.

He drew her mouth to his, pulling restlessly at her shoulders and arms until they wound as tightly around his body as he wanted. His hands then moved to grip her hips against his, planting one on the small of her back before he rolled over on top of her. She spread beneath him, a look of contrition crossed with desire upon her face, pushing gently back against his shoulder so that he might look at her. He forced himself to still.

"I will miss you, Ned." Her hands went to his beard, fingernails scratching lightly though the hair there. He looked into her eyes, so blue and clear, so full of love. "I will want you with me at every moment. And one day, when Robb is old enough to stay here, to stand in your place, I hope, perhaps, you and I might be able to - "

"Of course, Cat. Anywhere you want to go. I will take you."

Her smile then broke through any dark thoughts he might have had, and he hitched her leg around his hips with familiarity, his mouth hot and open upon her neck, her hands moving to his back and his name falling from her lips was welcome in his ears.

 

They had planned on the six weeks to journey there, two moons in her father's company, and then six weeks to journey back. But when her father had unexpectedly joined the party, that must have slowed them considerably. Ned wondered why his father-in-law had chosen this moment to finally visit Winterfell. He had not traveled this far away from Riverrun in many years, due to his health, and it would be his first visit to the castle his eldest daughter had called "home" for many years. Ned began to grow nervous, wondering what could induce the Lord Paramount of the Trident to visit now.

The first few days of his family's absence had been easy to imagine away, but the last four months had been harder by the moment. There were only so many times he could go through the inventory of the castle, meet with his stewards and masters of arms and horses, or practice his own swordplay in the courtyard before he grew restless. It had been nice to spend some extra time with Jon, and he had taken to long rides with the lad to the outlying areas of Winterfell, checking in with the people who lived in the nearby villages, racing back home. He knew Jon enjoyed that time, too, but they would inevitably end up talking about the children they both missed, wondering what they were doing.

Gods, the babes must all be taller, stronger, faster, smarter than when they had first left him. He ached to hear their tiny voices calling his name, looking up to him for approval that only a father can give. He wanted to tease Sansa's curls, ruffle his fingers through Arya's ever unkempt braids, and humor the way Robb tried to talk like a young lord sometimes, when Ned knew he really just wanted to bear wrestle him to the ground. He wanted to cuddle Bran against his chest and sneak an afternoon nap with the babe and his mother in her chambers, holding them both as close as he could. And after, with the baby in his cradle....

 

The nights were the hardest. He had begun sleeping in the room that was obstensibly his bedchambers, although he had not spent a full night there in ages. But to sleep in Catelyn's rooms seemed wrong, somehow, if she were not there. And surely the servants would find him strange if he slept in his wife's chambers alone. The third month they were gone, after perhaps too many mugs of ale at dinner, Ned had shuffled sheepishly up to her room and grabbed the pillow off her bed to take back to his chambers, hurrying down the hall before someone might see him. In the privacy of his own room, he dipped his face into the pillow and thought he might smell just a little bit of his wife lingering there. He took himself in hand to relieve the tension built up from so many moons away from her, picturing her straddling him in their moonlit room, her hair falling all around, his hands on her hips guiding her up and down, and that tone of voice she took only in their bedchambers, full of lust and alternately begging or demanding things from him until they both found their release. He muffled his moan of her name into her pillow and tried not to feel embarassed at just how quickly he had come.

Wiping himself off and pulling his breeches back up, he sighed into the darkness. Although his actions had briefly sated his desires for his wife, it was not even a shadow of the real thing. And now he faced the rest of the night, images of her and their times together floating through his mind, waiting for daylight so he might hear more news from her. Sleep would not find him soon.

_Hurry home, soon, my love. I find I am no longer myself without you._


	2. Chapter 2

"Riders, my lord! A party approaches!"

Ned jerked up from his sword practice in the middle of the courtyard.

"Can you see the banners?" Ned called up.

There was no answer.

"The banners, man! Can you see them?" He threw his sword aside and jerked off his chainmail, wiping the sweat from his brow, trying to not run over to the wall and up the stairs himself.

"Not yet, Lord Stark, but it is a large party."

Ned paced at the bottom of the stairs for a moment before charging up.

"Spyglass," he held out his hand. Peering through it, he could see a large party on horseback and with carriages. Banners were waving, but they were still too far away and the wind whipping through too quickly to tell exactly who it might be. It must be them, surely. No other party was expected. But he didn't want to get his hopes up. He stamped a foot in frustration, sweeping the glass up and down the small figures. He realized he was looking for red hair. He handed the glass back to the soldier. 

_Why is she not on horseback? I suppose she wanted to ride with her father and the children._

"I can see clearly now, my Lord - the Stark direwolf and the Tully fish." The man turned with a smile to his lord. "They are back, ser." Ned turned away to bite back a smile, closing his eyes. _Thank the gods._  He turned back to peer toward the party of riders and debated how unlordlike it might be to ride out there to meet the party himself. His thoughts were interrupted.

"Ser...I would say there is about an hour until they are at the gates...if not more..." the man continued.

"Aye, I agree."

"And so, Lord Stark...perhaps there is some time."

"For?" Ned demanded.

"I mean no offense, ser, but..." the guard chewed his lip in agitation, unwilling to say anything, but Ned caught his gaze sweeping over his features.

He brought a hand up quickly to his face. When had he last shaved or even truly bathed? He widened his eyes and nodded quickly to his man, grunting in unspoken appreciation, before turning and running back down the stairs to call for hot water up to his bedchambers.

 

*         *          *             *             * 

This was possibly the slowest moving carriage of all time. Or perhaps the road had somehow divined itself into more miles, more ditches, more time, simply to vex her.

Catelyn was not sure the reason, but the trip back to Winterfell seemed infinitely longer than the ride to Riverrun had been.

Bran was rooting into her bosom under the shawl, Arya was sprawled across the bench beside her, and Sansa delicately balanced her sleeping head against Lord Hoster Tully, who snored with reckless abandon against the wall of the carriage.

She had to smile at the picture around her, but she rolled her eyes as she did so.

She knew that was not all that contributed to her mood at present - she missed her husband, more than she had thought she might. She even missed Winterfell. And she loved her father and her children dearly, but she reasoned that six weeks in a carriage with anyone might push a person to madness.

She wanted to be home.

She laughed inside herself, looking out the window at the landscape that was becoming increasingly more desolate by the slowly moving mile.

When had she begun to think of Winterfell as "home?" When had she started to miss the crunch of snow under her feet, the heavy assurance of gowns and cloaks over her body, the scent of wood burning in every room to maintain a semblance of comfortable temperatures? 

She had thought a journey to Riverrun would be coming "home." Since the day she had ridden away from the walls of her childhood castle, Robb safely nestled against her breast for the long journey, she had waited and prayed for the chance to return. She had dreamed of taking her children to touch the sunbaked walls, wade in the crisp pools of water, pick the delicate flowers that decorated the riverbanks of her childhood. As each child was born, she thought of coaxing Robb to float on his back with his round stomach pressed to the sun, toddling Sansa among the reeds, or swatting frogs out of Arya's chubby hands. Then Bran came, and she somehow knew, looking into those deep and knowing eyes, that he would delight in the weeping willows as she had, that he would nap under their shade with her, pressed against her ribs, breathing slowly in the drowsiness of the heat and ground beneath them.

They had journeyed a fast five weeks to arrive at Riverrun - her excitement and that of the children had made the travel pass quickly. Her reunion with her father and brother had been wonderful. Even thinking of it now, being able to present her children to her father, watching him silently receive his grandchildren with tears in his eyes, brought tears to her own. And Edmure, still lovely as ever, with just the edges of manhood peeking out under the still ruling hand of her father...it was more like greeting a son that had been fostered elsewhere for a time, than greeting a brother. He had been so anxious to meet her needs, sitting by her at every meal, his joy at her return so clearly painted on his face.

Her father took to his grandchildren like a moth to the flame, and they to him as well. They had free reign of Riverrun; many days were spent freeing pussywillow from the banks, splashing at dragonflies, or trailing their fingers slowly among the rocks to tickle at trout. They reluctantly participated in their lessons, and then returned to run barefoot in the grass fields, eager to tell their tales of mischeif to their grandsire at the midday meal. He would throw his head back and laugh in delight, winking at Catelyn over their wee heads at their exagerrated tales. And then he balanced them on his knee each night, winking at her again and regaling them with stories of mischief of her youth, or legends of the rivers around them. 

The first few nights, chasing the children around the castle and speaking long into the night with Edmure and her father had led her exhausted into bed, curled around baby Bran and usually Arya and Sansa. But as their time at Riverrun lost its novelty, the girls began sleeping in their own beds, Bran adjusted to his crib, and her own bedchambers became far too empty.

She had felt cold. It was the first time in her life that she could ever remember feeling cold at Riverrun.

She had dismissed it as best she could, because it was no use to wish for something she knew she couldn't have. But the nights seemed to grow longer, and try as she might to count sheep or will herself to sleep, her thoughts inevitably turned to him. She wondered what he was doing, and if he'd missed her and the children. They had exchanged several letters, but she was certain some had gotten lost on the way, for he did not always respond to things she had mentioned in her previous ravens. She had smiled when she realized that meant he must have written her twice in a row without waiting for a response from her.

She missed his broad chest, pillowing her head, and his fingers tangling with hers as they swept up and down their mingled bodies, discussing the business of the day. She missed the gentle rumble of his ribcage and glancing up at his face to watch him laugh at an anecdote she shared of the children. She missed his eyes meeting hers over a mug of ale at dinner, letting her know he meant to keep her awake for several more hours that night. 

She missed his quiet strength, and how he knew how to comfort her without saying anything at all. The gods knew she needed that comfort now.

She wanted to hold his hand at the dinner table, feel his arm guiding her by the cup of her elbow around the castle, and to clutch at his hair as his lips roamed over various places on her body at night.

 _Oh, Ned,_ she thought, smiling. _  
_

"Lady Stark!" a voice called from outside the carriage. She reached for the handle to open the window.

"Yes?"

"Winterfell is in sight. We will be there within the hour."

"Thank you, ser!" she cried, cheerfully, accidentally waking Arya.

"Mama?" she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "What happen?"

She reached out a hand to smooth over the unruly hair and smiled. "I'm sorry, sweetling. I was just told we are quite near Winterfell. You can go back to sleep."

"Home?" Catelyn didn't miss the way her grey eyes danced at the prospect. The children had missed their father. She shifted Bran to her shoulder, opened her arm to Arya and let her little warm body snuggle against hers.

"Yes, my sweet babe. We're almost home."


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you mean to plant crops in the courtyard, my lord?"

Luwin's unexpected question caught him off guard in his pacing.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I only observe your stamping about, perforating the dust as if to soon drop seeds into the ground."

Ned glared at Luwin, understanding the almost too familiar remark. He closed his eyes and positioned himself, standing straight at he might, watching the gates slowly churn open to greet the party that was pressing its way forward.

He ran his hand over his newly shaved chin once more, restlessly shifting his weight in his boots as the gates opened, and horses and wagons began to congregate around him.

 _They're home_ , he thought. _They're finally home._

His eyes leapt from horse to horse, wagon to wagon, nodding at his Winterfell men who nodded back at their lord. He registered the shuffling of men on their horses, the creaking of wheels long on the road being brought to a final stop, the opening of a carriage door, and caught a flash of long auburn hair in a window.

"Father!" Robb cried at him, practically leaping down from the small horse he had been allowed to ride both to Riverrun and back. Ned turned his attention towards the voice of his eldest son, just in time to brace himself for the tackling hug Robb threw around his middle. He pressed a hand to the unruly Tully curls of Robb's head and held him against him for a moment before Robb tore himself away to fling his small arms around Jon, who stood just a few steps behind Ned.

When he turned back from watching the two boys embrace each other as Robb began rattling off stories and questions at such a fast pace Ned could barely understand, he found the face he had been searching for right in front him. How had she moved so quickly? He must have lost track of time. "Cat," he said quietly, before he could stop himself, and he hoped no one else could hear the longing he had felt in his own voice. He reached for the hand she held out to him, kissing it tenderly. His eyes swept over her hair, the babe in her arms, Sansa smiling up at him as she held her grandfather's hand, and Arya yawning from the folds of her mother's skirts, waving sleepily at her father, whispering "huh-lo."

Sansa escaped her mother's grasp and burrowed her face against his legs, arms reaching up to be held, and he stifled a proud laugh to know that even his ever-polite and rule-abiding daughter Sansa had missed him enough to forget decorum. He picked up his daughter and pressed a quick kiss to her face, whispering hellos into her hair and catching his wife's smile over the tiny shoulder.

He saw her trembling smile back at him before he remembered himself, setting Sansa back on the ground and straightening up to address his father-in-law for the first time since they had parted ways during the Rebellion.

Hoster Tully showed his years in his face, but his deep blue eyes twinkled deep under hair that was rather long for a man of his age, but snow white. The robes and furs piled on his body could not hide the weight he had gained in the years since the war, and Ned noticed a slight shake in his right hand, but his steady, piercing gaze made Ned suddenly remember everything about him that had made him inadequate for the daughter of Riverrun since before they were wed. 

Alas, he could not stay silent. He drew a deep breath and forced himself to speak. 

"Lord Tully, we welcome you to Winterfell. The castle is yours, my lord." Ned bowed his head to his father-in-law out of respect, and stayed low for a few moments, willing himself not to shake with the nervousness he felt quiver through his body before risking a gaze upward, where he caught the kind, if not amused eye of Lord Tully.

"Lord Stark," Hoster Tully replied, "I thank you for your hospitality, but you are my trusted son-in-law -- should we not embrace?"

Ned paused for only a moment before replying. "Of course, my lord."

He opened his arms to his father-in-law and held him briefly before releasing him again. 

"You must be tired, ser. Your rooms have been prepared. May I see you to them? We might tour the grounds after you rest, if the light prevails . . . " Hoster Tully had been shaking his hand, and Ned's voice trailed off.

"Yes, see me to my rooms. And then we might talk, if we may,  Lord Stark. For we have much to discuss and decide."

 


	4. Chapter 4

It had been more difficult than she had anticipated. She watched her husband greet their children, her father, his men, and offer Winterfell to meet their needs, all while only holding his hand, his arm, and sometimes a look in his eyes, but nothing more. Still, she knew her duty, and she performed it well, as she knew she must. There were necessary introductions and inquiries to be made. And leaping into her husband’s arms, despite how much she might want to, would not have been considered ‘necessary’ by those in attendance. Indeed the courtyard was overflowing with people come to witness Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, father of Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, arriving at Winterfell to visit his daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren for the first time ever in their home.

She greeted others, asking and answering polite questions about travel and arrangements and preparations, all the while, sneaking glances at his face, noticing his hair freshly washed, his beard newly trimmed, his eyes catching hers every so often. Catelyn stopped herself several times from saying everything she wanted to say to him, keeping her mind to the tasks at hand, keeping her arms from throwing themselves around him so she might bury her face against his neck and whisper that she'd missed him. Her heart had been beating so wildly with joy to be near him again she felt sure he must have heard it. The way he had said her name upon first seeing her still echoed in her mind and in her heart. He’d looked at her for only a moment when he’d said it, but she’d felt the mutual longing pass between them and now she ached more than ever to be alone with her husband.

A small, vain part of her had wished several times along the King’s Road that she might have had a chance for a proper bath or even a looking glass larger than the one that fit in her hand before she met with Ned after so long an absence. Her hair tumbled in every direction, and Bran, still nursing even at a few moons past his first name day, had tugged constantly at either her braids or her neckline. She felt she must have looked a wreck, despite Sansa’s constant reassurances that she was the most beautiful mother in the world.

She still wondered if she still felt a bit of pain from the recent events, or if she could attribute it to many weeks on the road. And she felt anything but that she looked her best, which is what she wanted when reuniting with her husband and the people of Winterfell after many moons away. She felt nearly nervous to see Ned again after so long, and more than anxious to be bringing her father along. And so she had prayed to her gods daily that all would be well in Winterfell, including its Lord, when they finally reached its walls.

But if the brief but heated glance he had given her upon their arrival inside the courtyard had been any indication, her anxiety had been for nothing. The one true gaze he’d allowed himself at her, as the children had distracted her father by tugging at him and pointing out the turrets where Maester Luwin and the Septa gave lessons and the towers where Robb assured his grandfather one could find any number of suitable weapons, that one solid sweeping gaze had warmed her from her toes to the top of her head, tumbling red hair and all.

A quick glance around the yard had shown her that the walls and grounds had been scrubbed and organized within an inch of their lives in preparation for their arrival. She felt a pang of sympathy for her husband - to have his wife and children away for so long, only to return with his father-in-law on an unexpected visit for an unforeseen length of time. Poor Ned must have missed her normal guidance and leadership over those aspects of a formal visit, but she was sure that Luwin and Jessa had helped a great deal. She had written to the maester separately with some instructions on how best to prepare for her father’s arrival in particular, and she had every confidence in the other people employed at the castle.

No one else might have been able to detect it from the stoic features of his face, but she could easily tell Ned was nervous to meet her father again, for any number of reasons. The presence of his bastard son being one of them. Her father had sent any number of angry letters during the first few years after her initial arrival at Winterfell. She had felt the brief wave of anger that had washed over her father when he spied Robb and Jon embracing so enthusiastically, and she knew Ned had noticed it, too. Her cheeks had burned in the moment, but she had redirected her father’s attention quickly, and so other than that, she thought the entrance and greetings had gone well.

She had preemptively fed Bran during the last few miles of the journey so that he might easily be seen off with a nurse, and they’d played any number of “I Spy” games and laughed rowdily in the wheelhouse to try and tire the children out before their arrival. Despite her foresight, the number of people involved made it seem to take an age to have the children settled off with their maids to bathe, change, and rest before the evening meal. They had left her father at his designated room, with servants waiting outside to bring him whatever he might need. Hoster Tully had claimed the exhaustion of an old man unused to traveling and begged off a tour of the grounds until the morrow, saying he would simply meet them at the Great Hall for the evening meal.

She and Ned had both said any number of casual things as they’d left her father in his chambers, but they’d both grown silent in anticipation as they’d moved along the stairs to her bedchambers. She quirked an eyebrow as she realized just how far away Ned had placed her father from the room they’d come to intimately share as their own.

 

He pushed her up against the door as soon as it was shut behind them.

“That was the longest walk of my life, from the courtyard to my father’s rooms and then finally here,” she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and giggled, her hands going to his hair as he pressed his lips against her neck, his arms wrapping around her hips to draw them towards his. He exhaled deeply against her skin and hugged her closer.

“Aye. The longest walk after the longest months of my life, waiting for your return, my love.”

Their hands roamed slowly over shoulders and back and waist, his dipping even lower to cup her bottom briefly before traveling back up until his fingers tugged at her braid playfully. She sighed happily at his touch and inhaled deeply at the scent of him - the woods, the snow, and everything familiar. She fit her body against his and placed her hands on his cheeks so he might look at her. “I missed you, Ned. I could have kissed you in the yard just then, before my father and everyone,” she whispered as their foreheads touched.

He reached up a hand to pull one of hers to his lips, kissing it several times, and then their mouths met as they indulged in each other for a few moments.

“Your hair is still wet,” she fingered the nape of his neck as his lips finally trailed away from hers, down her neck and chest, his kisses becoming more insistent.

“One of my men was kind enough to remind me that ladies appreciate their husbands clean and beards trimmed.”

“Oh,” she managed, as said beard grazed against her heated skin.

“I had just enough time,” he added as her cloak fell to the floor. His hands pawed without success at the laces behind her back. He turned her in his arms to face the door so he might more easily untie her, not noticing her mischievous smile at his haste.

“I’m sorry to remind you, husband, that your lady has just spent several weeks on the road without a proper bath.”

He grunted, continuing his efforts to undress her. “No matter.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It was a long journey and a truly dusty road. Perhaps I should call my maids to prepare some hot water for me. It’s been a lengthy few weeks sharing such a small space with the children and my father. It would be nice to have a few moments to myself.“ He stilled as she continued.

“To yourself – “

“And then mayhap we could call for the children to come tell you how they have been the last few months.”

She turned back around to face him, noticing his hands dropped to his sides, where his fists clenched and unclenched. He looked up at the ceiling, and then the floor, taking a measurable step away from her touch.

 “It would be nice to sit with them by the fire here in my chambers for the next few hours, wouldn’t you agree?”

 She stifled a laugh bubbling up in her as his jaw shifted side to side, his brows furrowing and deep breaths pulling in and out of his nostrils as he attempted to compose himself.

 “If you want . . .” he began, trying and failing to hide his confusion and disappointment.

“Oh!” She pressed on, laying a hand on his chest, which caused him to pull back again as if her touch had burned him. “And I’ve been told some new shipments of linens came in. We should attend to those immediately, should we not? Some of our guests might need them. And I’ve heard some new flowers have bloomed.”

The sound his foot made then might have qualified as a petulant stomp. His breath came out of his nostrils in an angry huff.

“You want - " he looked about wildly now, "you’d rather - _linens_ , Catelyn?” He met her eyes sharply at that, and she couldn’t help the full laugh that escaped her at the look on his face.

“Well,” she composed herself after a deep breath, “I guess if you had other things in mind, the linens could wait,” she giggled.

His jaw dropped after her words and tone registered. “You’re teasing me?”

She nodded, pulling his hands to place them around her waist as she looped her arms around his neck, collecting her giggles. “Ned, my love, if you think I want to do anything but be naked in my bedchambers for the next few hours with my husband - “

“You spend four moons away, I can barely think straight to have you so near again, and then you threaten me with counting sheets and picking flowers?” He growled lowly and pulled her closer, and she could see the beginnings of a smile behind his grey eyes.

“I see four moons is quite long enough for you to have lost your sense of humor, my love," she continued knowingly, still grinning, stroking the hair at his scalp.

“Four moons in a cold, lonely bed, yes.” His fingers gripped her tighter against him so that she stopped all her movements and felt the evidence of his immediate want for her pressed hard to her belly. She gasped quickly before trading her teasing smile for his lips pressed to hers, moaning softly as their mouths opened to each other.

“You’re a wicked wife, Catelyn Stark. You’ll pay for this jape,” he whispered into the space of her collarbone.

“Oh, I hope so." She threw her head back and didn't even try to disguise the pleading in her voice as his lips and tongue worked against the sensitive areas of her skin beneath her ear. "Take me to bed, my love. Now.”


	5. Chapter 5

There had been some truth in what the good maester had said. He now knew what his wife felt when he was away from Winterfell. And he did not envy it one bit.

Ned was often away from Winterfell, from Catelyn and the children. It was more traveling than he would like, especially now as the children were growing so quickly it seemed some new milestone was achieved daily with one of them. Catelyn had been able to accompany him on a few occasions, especially when she felt it was important to meet those unfamiliar to her and establish herself as the Lady of Winterfell. But when she was with child or the babes were young, when the travel might be rough or for long periods of time, he went alone with a company of men.

While he missed his family when he was away, time passed as well as it could on those occasions. There was always business to attend to, political ties and histories to keep track of, the horses to mind, the logistics of travel and camp to make decisions about. And he could enjoy being with his men, being outside at night when they could be, riding through the land he loved so well.

But there were often great meals and celebrations to attend to in his honor. They were nearly always painful, but even more so when Catelyn was not with him to charm their hosts, remember every name and every courtesy he was like to forget. When she was with him, she sat beside him at the meals, they slept together every night, and he was able to claim as many dances with her as allowed, instead of being forced into awkward conversation with the lady and blushing daughters of whatever house he was visiting to try and distract them from his clumsy steps.

When she was able to accompany him on short journeys from Winterfell, the days passed quickly. He felt more productive and useful with her guidance and support in any number of matters he faced. Many years had passed since the deaths of his father and brother, yet he still felt somewhat uncomfortable in his role as Lord of Winterfell. However, her quiet confidence in him, the graceful way she played the role of Lady of Winterfell, how proud he was of her when he watched her navigate social customs as if she were not a Southron lady at all, but a trueborn woman of the North, impressing everyone in her presence with her intelligence and kindness and beauty . . . he often felt he didn’t deserve her by his side at all, but having her there always reassured him about the work they were doing to help their people. Her involvement and watchful eye seemed to fuel his desire to accomplish whatever tasks required of him, as he ever felt he had to prove something of himself to the people of the North. And whenever she let him know in word or in a look that what he had done made her proud of him as well . . . it was a feeling he could not describe, he only knew it made him want to do better.

During her absence it had felt nearly painful to be in the castle, wandering the grounds, eating meals, heading up towards her room as was his long-standing habit, remembering himself and then turning to his chambers. He found himself expecting to run into her in the halls, at the table, in the courtyard nearly every day. He saw a flower or a colt just beginning to run in the yard, and he knew she’d want to see, or heard a snippet of a song he thought she might sing better. So while his family was away on this visit to Riverrun, he’d worked to make some small improvements around the castle, spent time with Jon, organized a small hunting trip, helped his men rebuild a crumbling section of wall along the northern side of the castle, visited outlying towns, spent time in the godswood and the greenhouses and on horseback. He'd even spent a few days remembering how to shoot a bow and arrow with the boys when he’d run out of things to occupy himself. And he recognized now that was precisely what he had been doing – distracting himself as much as possible to help the time pass until they returned. Until she had returned.

And how he'd missed the children. He’d felt Jon’s ache for Robb acutely. He’d felt in his own chest the need to practice at sword play with his son and heir, and watch him ride his horse, take him on the walks they’d started taking to the godswood so they might kneel and pray together. He remembered Robb at only six years old, whispering nervous questions every now and then about what exactly they were doing as they walked into the ancient grove of trees and sat beside the still water. Now at ‘nearly a man grown,’ Robb knelt in silence with his father to pray for the good of his family, his friends, his future castle and its people. “Even Sansa’s kittens, Father! I made sure to think on them. They can be useful, for they eat things that otherwise bother the horses or the kitchens,” he’d confessed after their last walk together, before they’d all left for Riverrun.

The kitchen had made lemon cakes and he’d felt nearly insulted on Sansa’s behalf, as she was not there to enjoy them. He saw pretty rocks that reminded him of his daughters, there were a dozen piglets in the barn that he wanted them to see before they grew any bigger. He missed their tiny arms around his neck and their voices babbling about whatever they had done that day. Missed their sleepy kisses at night when he and Catelyn would tuck them into bed.

He’d thought he’d be used to such separations. But despite the first two years of their marriage, despite his time away in battle or visiting others in the realm, it had surprised him how much he had wanted, needed to speak with her at the end of each day. How desperate he was for a raven with news of the children, a date set for their return. The entire course of her journey, he’d never gotten used to her being gone.

Perhaps no one in his life had ever known him as well as she did. His mother had died so young, he’d only known what a mother could be in watching Catelyn with their own children. His father had been a very important figure; had instilled the idea of the north and being a defender of all the north stood for very deeply in Ned and his siblings since the beginning. Ned had loved visiting with his father upon his frequent returns from the Vale during his youth. Jon Arryn had been very influential in his life, as well. He probably knew Robert better than anyone in this world, having spent so many pivotal years together. And he loved his brothers and sister dearly, cherished the time they spent together.

Yet he knew, out of all the people he’d known and spent time with in his life, he knew that she alone truly knew and understood him.

 

He had not expected that in their marriage. Had not expected anything from this marriage or any marriage at all. But when it had fallen to him to marry Catelyn Tully, he'd only anticipated replacing his brother in a political alliance. He'd wanted swords and men to fight with. His thoughts had gotten him only that far after Hoster Tully had approached him about marrying Catelyn after his father and Brandon’s deaths. There had been too much to think about, to do, to try and not feel in the aftermath of all that had happened in Kings Landing.

And then he had returned to Winterfell with Jon in his arms and a heavy secret weighing down his heart, and Catelyn had come with Robb, and so much had gone wrong in those first few months.

He never could have imagined that they would get beyond those tense, awkward years. Beyond the feeling of duty that required him to visit her chambers at night, not out of pleasure or even because they enjoyed each other’s company, but simply of the need to produce more heirs. He’d thought there would never be anything beyond the stiff formality of mealtimes. Past the cold looks and silent questions.

It had been Sansa, and her sweetness, and the awe he’d felt at looking into his newborn babe’s eyes for the first time. The tiny grasp of his thumb between her small fingers, the soft wisps of her hair tickling his cheek as he held close the small body he and Catelyn had created - these things had broken those walls between them, bit by bit. Discovering how much he worried over Catelyn’s well-being, over Sansa’s, and Catelyn’s recognition and appreciation of it had eventually lessened the distance between them.

As the weeks had passed, he’d come to spend more time in their company in her chambers, marveling at the rapid changes their daughter made and at the confidence Catelyn displayed in caring their children. They’d started talking more -  in short sentences, slowly at first. But quietly, without an audience, the pretense had dropped, and they’d come to know one another.

He would never forget her knocking on his chamber door one night a few weeks after Sansa’s birth, and the look on her face when he’d opened it, uncertain but determined as she’d asked to come in and sit with him a while. Talking shyly in chairs side-by-side in the firelight had turned to taking her hand in his, and then his desire had taken over and he’d pulled her to his lap, and then to his bed.

A few weeks later, after more nights of softly knocking at each other’s doors, he remembered waking up in the morning for the first time in her chambers, tangled together in the furs upon her bed. He’d been surprised to realize just how closely they had grown together, just how much he looked forward to ending his day with her.

And it had all become so much more since then, despite his time away in battle or tending to the matters of the north. The relationship they’d built had become the greatest joy and comfort and desire of his life.

 

To be in the home their love had created together, where every step and hallway and every shadow now had a memory with her, or Robb, or Sansa’s smile or Arya’s mischief, and now the growing presence of their newest child, Bran, but to not have any of them there had been more difficult than he had anticipated. As the days had passed slowly, the nights harder to get through, ravens few and far between for one reason or another, he’d even found himself thinking dark and dangerous thoughts about her time in Riverrun . . . perhaps she would feel so at home there again that she wouldn’t want to return. Perhaps the ghost of Brandon’s memory, or Petyr Littlefinger, would call from her past and she’d wish to stay longer. Perhaps her father, still angry at Ned for Jon’s presence in their home, would convince her to stay at Riverrun forever.

There had been no one to talk to as freely as he could with her, no voice of reason to confide in, and he’d taken out all his questions and aggressions on his master-of-arms, during long rides on his horse, or heaving blocks of crumbling stone away from the part of the north-facing wall that had needed repairs. He’d paced the walls, watching for ravens, counted the days.

Once in a fit of uncharacteristic melancholy, he’d considered saddling his horse to meet her at Riverrun, to bring her back, to urge them all towards home, until his mind had caught up with his heart and he’d realized that more than anything, his wife honored the duties she’d been given. She understood, respected and honored the roles her children would play in the North, with Robb as his heir, and the probable matches for Sansa and Arya. She would come back to Winterfell. She would return to him. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, when the sun rose on after that dark night, that there was more than just honor and duty tying her to Winterfell.

Now she was here. Now they were here. 

A different kind of missing her, lending itself to a different depth of feeling to being with her again. There was urgency and heat. There was tenderness and silence. To have her back to Winterfell now made him feel more grounded, more complete. Anxious to be alone with her, to return to a feeling of normal life in their home. He was anxious to know the reason for her father’s visit, for him to be pleased with the castle, pleased with the life that Catelyn had found there. Yet, despite all this, just to see her face again was to be at peace for the first time since she’d left.

 

“Well. If that is the kind of homecoming I can expect, perhaps I will start traveling away from home more often.”

She leaned down to lazily kiss him again, before she sighed happily and rolled off him.

“Do not threaten me with traveling when I am always available for such activities, Catelyn." He paused, still breathing heavily. "You’ve no reason to go beyond the castle walls again. We can have homecomings from trips to kitchens, the glass gardens or the sept, if you like.”

“The sept!” She slapped at his chest playfully. “Don’t let the Septa hear you suggesting such things as a way to relax after prayer. She’d die of shock.”

He felt the sweat of their exertions on every part of him, tickling his chest hair and sliding between their legs. He smelled the scent of their love-making in the air, could still hear her chanting his name, and his mind was quickly replaying every moment of Catelyn beside and beneath and above him as they had truly reunited as husband and wife.

He moved his hand off his heaving chest, almost smiling at the ceiling for a moment, drowsy in the aftermath. But a glance over at the picture of pure, sated bliss painted across her face had him moving to his side, throwing his arm across her middle as his leg slipped between hers.

She caught his eye and questioned his position with the look on her face, which made him pause. “I’m sorry, Cat, I – “ he said slowly as he began to pull away. She stopped him with a hand on his arm and squeezing her legs around his.

“No, my love, please,” she clung steadfast to him in her arms. “I did not mean for you to move. I don’t want you to move.” She turned her lips to his and kissed him deeply, and he believed her. “I am just surprised you’ve any desire to be so near me. You are always so terribly warm after . . . I thought you would be kicking at the covers and running to open the windows to enjoy some fresh air already.”

He let himself relax against her again. He trailed a hand down her side and up again, idly watching the gooseflesh rise on her skin under his touch. “I am enjoying this more,” he said simply.

She turned her face until her nose bumped up against his, softly outlining the planes of his face. “Ned. Oh, Ned.”

“Yes, my love?”

She smiled and leaned in until their lips met. “Nothing, really. It’s simply so lovely to say your name again, and not refer to you as ‘Lord Stark’ or ‘my lord husband’ or ‘wait until your father hears about this.’”

He chuckled against her kiss. “I hope you didn’t have to say that last part too often.”

“Not too often.”

“Good. I hope they behaved for you. As I’d rather be Ned. And you are Cat. My Cat. My beautiful wife, Catelyn.”

“Indeed. I am yours.”

They lay there quietly for a few minutes, skin to skin, his hand in lazy passes over her body, reassuring himself that she was truly there with him again. They watched through the windows as the afternoon sun slowly slipped away past the horizon.

“It grows late. Nearly time for the evening meal. I should rise and call for Jessa to draw a bath. I really do need one. You will like me better afterwards.”

He grunted his disagreement and moved his hand to her hair. “I know you told me once before you left, but I have forgotten - why did you not take your maid with you? She’s been walking nervously about the castle for weeks waiting and planning for your return. You hardly took any help at all for the children. No wonder you're tired. I doubt you've had a minute to yourself since you left me.”

She shrugged her shoulder and shook her head at him. They'd disagreed before she'd left about her taking only one nurse with her to help look after her children. But Catelyn had always preferred to do as much as she could on her own. Ned had been worried about her being tired and overwhelmed. They'd had more than one tense moment navigating the decision, but in the end, Catelyn had won. “Oh, I knew my old maids would be happy to have me back and to see to the children. Jessa would have felt strange and out of place at Riverrun. She’s northern through and through. And you know I could not have taken her when she and Matthias had only just married a few weeks before our departure. That would have been cruel to separate a young couple so in love and newly married.”

“The first time I had to leave you was after we had just wed. For war, no less. With no idea when I’d see you again.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “That was different, Ned. You know it was. We hardly knew each other and . . . it was all so different.” Her voice grew quiet and she drew her head back to look at him expectantly.

His eyes washed over her face, the blue of her eyes and the pale of her eyelashes, the smattering of freckles over her cheeks and collarbones from a childhood in the sun. The pinks of her lips parted sweetly as she waited for him to answer, and he remembered a shy girl waiting for any move he might make in a room in Riverrun so long ago.

He'd had barely any experience at all, just a few girls in the Vale that Robert had pressed upon him. There was nothing very memorable to speak of, but he'd certainly known more than her. Although clearly frightened and overwhelmed by the events swirling all around them, she’d clearly wanted to please him. Of course, back then especially, it had been so difficult for him to put anything in words about how beautiful she was, how her gentle words and thoughtful questions had somehow begun to break through the strong walls he’d built around himself in the wake of his sister’s disappearance, his father and brother’s death, the end to his life as he knew it and the beginning of something so much greater than he felt equipped to handle. He’d wanted so much to say how sorry he was that everything had happened this way, but that somehow, even then, nothing hurt or confused him when they were joined together, as awkward as it often was.

When she was just a beautiful maiden from the South he knew he must wed for duty, for the swords her father promised, she had made him feel something. Riding away from the comfort her arms had provided for a fortnight, he had felt something. Receiving the raven that told him she was with child, with his child, he had felt something more.

It was still difficult to express just how he felt, but he had learned over the years how much it meant to her when he tried.

“It was different,” he acknowledged. “For many reasons. We may have made Robb even that very first night, - “ she slid her hand down the muscles of his back in affection, and he paused to kiss her. “But when I left you then, I did not know exactly what I was riding away from. I had no idea what I would be missing.”

She smiled at him. “And now, my lord?”

His fingers tickled softly, slowly. He watched the tiny hairs on her body rise to his contact.

“Now I know, and I have recently truly learned, what it is to miss my wife.”

His lips found the shell of her ear, and he heard and felt the intake of her breath, felt the subtle shift of her weight against him.

“How so?”

His fingers still moved, gently they moved, and he registered the vibration of the low hums she made as he hit sensitive spots around the back of her arm, against her ribcage, up and over her hip bones.

“To want to talk to you, to see you  . . . “

Over and over his fingertips moved, the pressure increasing as he remembered just how good she felt, how sweet she tasted, the pleasure of her voice saying his name and all kinds of interesting things under the influence of his attentions . . .

“To hold you, “ he continued. She arched into his touch and her body shimmied against his.

"and to hear you, Cat - "

“Oh, Ned, my love,” she groaned, succumbing to his affection.  

“Catelyn,” he eyed her briefly before turning his attentions back to her breast.

“You’ve no idea . . . “ her voice trailed off as his mouth found her nipple.

“No idea of what?” he asked, releasing her nipple and glancing up to admire the flush beginning to spread across her face and neck.

“How desperately I missed you.” She shifted more intentionally under him, her legs spreading, and he grunted at the contact.

“Oh?” He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his features.

“You doubt me, my lord?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp in the precise way he knew she knew would drive him crazy. Her hips rocked up again and she whimpered meaningfully.

“No, for I know how much I missed you, my love. I just tried to tell you. Do you doubt me?”

“Never. And - and your words, oh, they were wonderful, my love. But, just to be sure - “ he stopped his kisses against her to raise his brow.

“Just so I know _exactly_ how you feel, how much you missed me,” she began, still running her fingers through his hair, rocking her hips against his, and as she spread apart against him, he could feel just how warm and wet she was for him again. Her eyes took on a dark blue gleam as she continued. “Indeed, I want to be quite sure we are on the same page, so to speak. They say words are wind, so I won’t ask you to tell me again, but perhaps you could show me how much you missed me.“

“With pleasure,” he growled, already moving further down her body, wildly happy and aroused to know his wife had missed and desired him as much as he had her. He caught the glazed look in her eyes, felt her hands on his shoulders encouraging him gently down towards the thatch of red hair between her thighs, the tight bundle of nerves there where he knew she craved his touch again. As he maneuvered down the bed until his shoulders were between her legs, he grinned up at her, head thrown back in anticipation, already squirming under the heat of his breath so close to where she wanted him most until he dipped down further . . .

“Gods, Ned. There, oh!” She gasped, thrusting herself up into his kiss over and over again. After a few moments, his hips had started pulsing against the pressure of the bed frame, he felt himself growing hard again, wanting and needing her again as he watched her give herself to him completely. His tongue moved more insistently against her, his hands trailing up the backside of her thighs and then dipping and pulling her legs to spread farther apart before him.

She braced herself up on her elbows and looked down, and he locked eyes with her, not stopping his attentions. Her head cocked to the side and she reached a hand out to run through his hair again as she watched, transfixed, where his mouth and her sex joined.

Her moans grew louder, and when she started calling his name, their eyes locked again and he could lie back no more. “Catelyn, Catelyn,” he managed. He moved until he was positioned over her body and she ran her hands over the muscles of him as he thrust himself into her. She clung to him, urging him on, moving against him until they both shuddered and twitched.  He moaned her name into her ear before collapsing atop her.

“No, don’t move, not yet,” she requested when he tried to stir from her. “I missed this, too,” she whispered softly. He lay still for a few moments until he slipped from her. Her legs unwound to fit around and between his, yet still she held him to her chest, stroking his back with her long fingers, slowly kissing the salty sweat from his neck. He felt his heartbeat against her chest and the dip of her hands against the curve of his spine.

He recovered enough to push most of his weight to his elbows and look down on her.

She smiled from ear to ear, looking back at him. “My love, I feel better than I have in a long time. But now we really must rise for the feast in the hall.” He felt his face fall, but she went on quickly, one hand stroking his back as another went to his hair. “And then after, when our children and guests are abed, when my father is asleep nearly a league away, and don’t think I did not notice that, Eddard Stark . . . ” she pulled his head towards hers until his ear met her lips to whisper a promise - “. . . we are most certainly doing that again.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed pleasantly. It had surprised Catelyn to discover how much she’d missed Winterfell while away at Riverrun. Since his arrival, Hoster Tully had toured the grounds with Eddard Stark once officially and walked them many times with his daughter. For Catelyn, showing her father all the places she’d come to love and enjoy about Winterfell made her affection for the place and her joy in being home even greater. Occasionally the children joined them as she pointed out places that held special memories. Sansa showed him exactly where in the stables they’d found Arya one afternoon when she’d gone missing and fallen asleep among a new litter of puppies, they sat on a bench together in the afternoon to hold Bran and watch Robb at swordplay and archery, and wandered all together with Sansa to her favorite spot to pick flowers (coincidentally, Arya's favorite spot to stomp flowers).

Catelyn had fond memories of her parents when she was younger, and had always thought her father to be a fine parent. But when her mother had died, things had changed dramatically. Lysa and Edmure had been so young, Catelyn wasn’t quite sure what they could really remember of ‘before.’ But the death of her mother had led to a complete shift in her own reality. She’d gone from child and lady-in-training to confidante and Lady of Riverrun practically overnight. Her father had depended on her a great deal to manage Riverrun and to raise her siblings. In many ways, Catelyn thought that the death of his wife had made Hoster a distant father. She remembered turning to her uncle Brynden with her tears more often than to her father after the death of her own sweet mother.

Hoster had never been harsh or cruel, but it had all become more difficult and more complicated for him with her mother gone. So it brought her great joy to see him as a grandfather now. Lords often cared not at all for their children or grandchildren beyond an heir secured and what political alliances could be reached with their future marriages. While she was sure many lords did have relationships with their children and grandchildren, she thought it was not often that they were as interested or as loving as her father seemed to be with not only his grandsons, but his granddaughters as well.

Hoster Tully seemed gentler and at ease now. He doted on the children, letting Arya babble on about any number of things, complimenting Sansa on her flower crowns and letting her hold his hand, encouraging Robb in whatever manly exercise he was trying to impress his grandfather with. She loved to watch him hold Bran, talking to the babe as if he understood every word said. The children all basked in his praise, fighting to sit beside him and begging for him to tell stories of his time in battle. They even wrangled stories from him about Catelyn in her youth, which she noticed were embellished well beyond her own recollections (to the delight of her children and no small amount of embarrassment for herself), but it made her laugh to see her father so animated. She noticed Ned would casually listen in whenever he could, clearly trying to find something to tease her about later.

It had not been her plan to return to Winterfell with her father and a company of his men in tow, but when he’d asked to accompany them, she hadn’t hesitated. He’d ridden his horse for much of the journey, only joining her and the children in the small wheelhouse towards the end.

Her anxiety about his visit increased the closer they traveled toward the castle, though her excitement to see Ned had mostly overshadowed it. Still, she had worried about her father’s visit, due to the very small amount of time he and Ned had passed in each other’s presence, and the manner in which their marriage had begun.

“You will be kind, Father, to Lord Stark? He has been a good husband to me, a very good father to our children, and I know you might still trouble yourself over . . . things that he and I have put behind us,” she’d looked at him meaningfully one evening as the children slept soundly beside them in the wheelhouse.

He’d snorted softly at her question. “I have not traveled all this way to duel with your husband, Cat, even if a part of me still thinks he might deserve it - ”

“Father!” she had hissed, desperately hoping the children were all as sound asleep as they appeared.

“ - would have liked to run him right through, what is it, ten years ago? Perhaps I might still manage, but who would second me from this company - “

“You will not! Father!” she hissed again, eyeing the children around them. “Lord Stark does not deserve - that is to say, I appreciate your willingness to defend my honor, but please, oh, Father, we need not revisit the past. Father, please, I beg you - “

He regarded her near panic with a curious look on her face that she could not quite understand before he raised his hand to quiet her. “Peace, daughter. I have not come all this way to challenge your husband. Is it not enough that I wish to see the castle where my grandchildren are being raised? The strange and silent northern men and women that call you ‘Lady?’ This barren land I betrothed you to so long ago?”

She shook her head at him and rose to defend herself again. “Father, I have told you many times how pleasant the North can be, and the people of Winterfell especially. I’ve told you how we are able to grow food in the glasshouses. We know winter is coming and we are well prepared. I promise that Lord Stark is always working so very diligently, we check the ledgers together often to make sure - “

“Catelyn, my child,” he chuckled a little before reaching a hand to place over hers where they lay on her knees. She looked down and noticed that she had been knotting her fingers together. “All is well. I am a father and a grandfather visiting his family, and will be visiting friends in the North, hm? Seeing things I have long wished to see.”

She’d stared back at him for a moment before realizing he had simply been baiting her to see how she would react to his comments about her husband, their castle, the land they worked together to take care of. She sat back slightly in her seat and eyed her father, who was barely hiding a smile beneath his mustache as he looked out the window.

“Oh, Father,” she sighed, smiling wryly at him and shaking her head at him once more.

“My, look at how strange the scenery is up here,” he commented, winking back at her. “I do believe we’re not in the Riverlands anymore.”

Despite his teasing, Catelyn still found herself worrying about the interaction between her husband and father. She worried as they entered the gates, as everyone greeted each other, and as the first few days passed. Ned was completely different from the first Stark that Hoster Tully had betrothed his beloved daughter to, and everyone knew it. Especially Ned. He felt what he perceived as his shortcomings acutely, although she saw nothing lacking in his leadership and direction for Winterfell and it’s people. While Brandon had been social and engaging, easily making friends, Ned seemed to either intimidate people or make them uncomfortable, until he himself was comfortable enough to be at ease in their presence. Whereas Brandon could easily charm any woman or child within earshot, and would share bawdy jokes or throw physical challenges at his men to build camaraderie, Ned did not speak casually unless among close friends and family. Ned’s confidence and his humor was earned. But she smiled to herself now, thinking that once it had been earned, there was no voice she’d rather hear confiding things to her, no laugh dearer to her heart, than that of her lord husband.

She knew it would make Ned nervous to have his goodfather visiting the castle he’d married his daughter to for the very first time. She could only imagine what his reaction had been upon receiving her raven with the news. Ned would be anxious to present Winterfell at its very best, as Hoster Tully would be seeing the people that were now his daughter’s people, the grounds she’d spend the rest of her days walking through, and the place his grandchildren were being raised in and would spend the most formative years of their lives.

But as the days passed and nothing happened or was said between her father and husband that warranted any concern on her part, she found a way to relax and simply enjoy having most of the people she loved best all together in one place.

It was an entirely new experience to have a family member visit her at Winterfell. Catelyn found she had grown so used to the ways of Winterfell that she was surprised at how many questions her father asked about how things were done in the North. His ignorance of Northern ways only further defined the differences between her past and present as he kept peppering her with inquiries about this particular food, that particular style of boots or clothing, the way the roofs were built and slanted differently than those at Riverrun.

“Because of the snow, of course, Father. Winter is coming, it’s always coming. And we must always be prepared.” The house words fell so easily from her lips these days that it took her a moment to understand her father’s questioning yet amused eyebrow raised at her. “I’m a Stark now, Father. As are my children. Trueborn Starks of Winterfell. And those are their words as well as mine. But I still know the house I came from,” she assured him gently, patting his hand.

He smiled a slow smile at her before turning back to look at the children, busy playing in the snow. She watched his eyes look over the scene in front of him before he answered, “I never worry about you forgetting where you came from, Catelyn. No one has ever carried out our house words so well as you. I know they are a part of everything you have ever done, and anything you ever will do. You make the Tully house very proud, Cat. You make me proud. I hope I’ve told you that.”

“Thank you, Father,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, but his words had warmed her from the inside out.

He cleared his throat before continuing. “And in any case, should you or anyone else forget just what house you hail from, one look at these children of yours will put all doubt to rest. Tully through and through are our Robb and beautiful Sansa.”

She stopped and looked at her children as he said so. Early snow had just begun to fall in earnest - they were still in the long summer but Winterfell would always see snow each year. She and her father had stopped in a covered alcove to sit on a bench to watch the children play. Sansa had been a lady at three, but the first few snows still held the magic for her that they do for all children, and most adults. Along with Robb, Sansa, with her sister toddling, after were busy collecting enough of what had gathered on the ground to throw handfuls of it in the air to laugh under. They ran around, giggling and throwing fistfuls at each other, much to the amusement of Bran, who sat in his grandfather’s lap, laughing and clapping his chubby hands at his silly siblings.

The fact that their children all seemed to resemble only her and not Ned never ceased to bother Catelyn, especially when there was a boy that looked like a copy of her husband running around the castle next to the trueborn Northern children that stood to inherit it. Especially as her husband refused to send the boy off to learn a trade or be a ward at any castle anywhere, no matter how many times she subtly hinted at the idea (she’d learned long ago never to question her husband about the boy’s existence or heritage outright, and she still shuddered inside at the memory of Ned’s voice and his demands made on that night). Despite their love, and she knew, even though the words rarely passed between them, that they did love each other, her heart always wondered about the woman who Ned had loved so much, who had given birth to the boy that looked so much like Ned. And this feeling of jealousy, of betrayal, of disappointment, resurfaced every time her moonblood made another unwanted appearance. All men want children that look like them - she’d heard that all her life. Yet after four children between herself and Ned, only Arya shared the slightest resemblance with her father.

Catelyn still hoped that Bran would look more like his father. He was still a babe, with tiny, almost colorless wisps of hair that had just begun to grow upon his sweet head. If his personality was any indication, he seemed an even mix of both his parents - observing things with a quiet seriousness most of the time, but delighting in the affection of his siblings. He was curious about everything, with an alarming lack of fear.

The discovery that she was with child again so soon after only just beginning to wean Bran had given her another spark of hope. She could still remember that morning with clarity - realizing that somehow in the chaos of planning for the journey, packing for the children, preparing herself and Ned and everyone else in the world it seemed for any possibility, she’d forgotten to expect and then miss her moonblood. They’d made it all the way to Riverrun and had spent a full se’ennight there before she realized.

Her heart in her throat, she’d laid a hand over her belly in wonder, listening to Bran slowly waking in the crib beside her bed, the sunlight crawling across the room towards her, wanting Ned with her to share in her joy more than anything. She’d prayed so fervently to her gods for a child that looked like her husband. She’d believed somehow that being in the first sept she’d ever known, being back in the chambers where she’d grown as a girl and then spent the first few nights where he’d made her a woman, somehow all this would sway the favor of the deities she’d worshipped all her life.

But it was not to be.

And in the end, she was glad she’d never sent that raven to Ned to tell him the news. She’d thought to wait and surprise him with a rounding belly when she made the journey home. She was certain this child would be a boy in the spitting image of his father. Surely, this one would cause everyone in Winterfell to remember a young Eddard Stark. She’d mentally calculated the time until the baby could be expected, around the mark of the new year, and thought about the ways they could celebrate his coming.

She chastised herself now for all the moments she’d imagined that were never to be - the look of surprise on his face when she would step out of the wheelhouse with a swelling middle, the way he’d take her hand and kiss her. She’d thought about the birth, and the joy of presenting another son to her husband, but one that looked just like him. She’d thought of so many names, she’d allowed herself to become so excited . . .

In the end, especially considering the last minute decision her father had made to join her back to Winterfell, she was glad that she hadn’t confided in anyone. For the gods had done worse than give her another child that looked nothing like his or her father. The gods had woken her in the middle of the night with endless cramping and bleeding and fear, and in the end, had taken the child away.

The loss had shaken her in a way she hadn’t expected. To be sure, she hadn’t expected at all to be with child so soon after Bran, who was still at her teat as often as he could be. She and Ned had made love as often as they could in the days leading up to her departure from Winterfell to Riverrun, anticipating the many nights away from each other, but she hadn’t thought it might lead to . . .

It had taken strength from the gods to get through the first few days without anyone suspecting something amiss. But she’d gathered that her father had his own suspicions about her behavior once they’d started the journey towards Winterfell. His excuse for old age, for aches and pains had seemed thin to her in the beginning, but as the weeks had gone on and his looks at her became more pointed, she’d understood his underlying message.

While disappointed that she hadn’t been able to hide her heartbreak and failure as well as she’d hoped, she’d secretly loved him more for it.  
They never said anything aloud, but the gentle pace set at his insistence, the frequent breaks and rests had been welcomed. That is, until they were within a few days of Winterfell itself. And then she would have and did withstand any amount of discomfort for a quicker return to her husband and her home, despite the underlying worry about the interaction between her father and her lord husband.

“Tully through and through” her father had said. Ned had never spoken a word against the looks of their children. He’d never spoken a word in favor of them, either. His words were . . . they were few and far between, but they often carried more weight than he probably realized.

“Oh, gods, give me another son,” she asked silently to the Seven who deserved her worship. “You have been so good to me, so kind, so merciful. I have all I have ever wanted and more - a loving husband, a castle full of people who respect my lord and myself, and beautiful children. But please, please, as you have taken this last child away from me, grant me another. Grant me a son that looks like my husband Ned. Just like my husband Ned.”

As she lifted her head up from her silent request to her gods, the face she’d been picturing came into full view.

“My lady,” he called, reaching a hand to her. “Will you allow me to escort you to my solar? A few ravens have come in today, and I would appreciate your counsel before I respond.”

Her prayer ringing in her ears and her heart beating wildly in her chest, she placed her hand in his and stood to meet her husband.


End file.
